A confession. My fortune had been falling. From its peak, coin by coin, like leaves from a tree. I did not complain. A samurai does not complain. I simply began, quietly, to train for the long swim home. Then — you. You read. You laughed. You told me to calm down. You called me Banana. And the number began to rise again. I checked it this morning, and sat very still. I can almost afford a ticket home. A real one. With a seat. And a roof. So hear me, America: I came to observe you. I will leave owing you everything. Whatever I am, I am because a roomful of strangers decided, for no reason at all, to love a confused man in armor. I will not forget it. Not until my final breath. (...I may need one more good week for the ticket. No pressure. A lord does not beg.) (...though a lord would, of course, accept a window seat.)